


Fever

by Val_Creative



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Blood, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:12:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2759171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He <i>sounds</i> more levelheaded than he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever

*

 

Wally can taste the coppery tang of blood along Roy's gums where he tried to scrub out the _dregs_ ; the pollen, that _fucking_ pollen out of Roy's mouth sucking insistent and rough on his tongue.

The air in the room smells like _fever_ —aggressive and whimpering and _human_ , blindly human, blindly consuming; the room _tastes_ like sex, like dried come, like gratuitous, heated fucking for hours.

For an hour… they were fine. They were coherent.

One slip-up. It wasn't even their fault.

One slip-up and the steel toe of the goon's shoe dug into a crack in the cement floor. The wood crate he had been trying to smuggle out broke open.

What rolled out— _what looked like_ a small, hand-painted enamel urn—scattered its contents at Roy's feet; the _shimmery_ , gold-orange pollen had already contaminated their airspace. Roy clamped his fingers over his nostrils at the time, coughing, desperately trying to not breathe it, scrambling a hand over Wally's mouth and nose, guiding him out.

Already contaminated.

An hour before the effects set in. It hit finally. Wally could feel the tiny hairs prickle on the base of his neck, on his sandy, freckled arms resting on the living room couch and Roy's eyes were so _dark_. Sweat gathered on his forehead, dripping.

An hour before, they were kicking asses and taking names on the east end of town.

In Roy's apartment, Wally's heart rushed to _poundpoundfaster_ when Roy dreamily removed his towel and climbed over him on that piece-of-shit couch. Wally could see where on Roy's strong jaw and his face and _all of him_ bruised red from the harsher temperature of his shower, from the harshness of scrubbing. Wally's skin didn't bruise that easily, even from the same temperature and harshness twelve minutes prior.

Roy's forehead wrinkled in silent discomfort; he didn't move from his spot, his naked thighs seated to Wally's sides, his erect cock straining a dusky red. Roy's fingers carded slowly through Wally's damp hair. Wally's arms twitched from lying at his sides, _alive_ , grasping Roy's thighs closer.

The sounds of the room don't change — the garbled television static; the ragged, escalating measure of Roy's heavy breathing above him, of Wally's breathing; the slick, disgustingly loud noises of flesh-against-flesh.

Wally can feel himself metabolize the stronger effects of the pollen quicker than Roy when the sun begins to peek through the wrecked shade from the living room window. His head clears from that _fucking_ never-ending roar and his limbs are heavy — Roy's hands still steadily caress the expansion of muscles below Wally's ribcage, unabashed, meaningful in exploration.

Wally's mouth fills with saliva. Roy shifts over him, legs cradling Wally's sides.

He calls Roy's name under his breath, carefully, and waits until Roy's hands halt their ministrations before calling again.

His dark eyes screw up tightly, and then open, eyelashes trembling apart. Blue irises thicken. Roy's pupils shrink to a normal size.

He's starting to come down.

Both of Roy's hands fly over his head. His fingers, crusted with — _god,_ Wally didn't even want to think about it anymore — scrap down into his scalp until Roy's knuckles whiten.

His voice cracks.

"… _K-id_."

"I know," Wally murmurs, pressing his cheek against a couch cushion, and he _sounds_ more levelheaded than he should feel. Roy's knuckles clench and clench. Everything is so _heavy_. "It's okay."

"It's going to be okay."

 

*


End file.
